


Bleed Me From The Heart

by KindOfEvil



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, I have no idea, M/M, Modern Middle Earth, Other, Purgatory? Kind of?, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Self-Harm, Symbolism, Torture, Well... Modern-ish, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:35:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24142945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KindOfEvil/pseuds/KindOfEvil
Summary: A very strange, dream-inspired Au:The Valar have purified Mairon's soul, giving him a peaceful, but unplanned death.Melkor and Gothmog show up at the funeral followed by an unexpected guest.
Relationships: Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	Bleed Me From The Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit different from my usual writing, the idea came to me in a form of a dream and well... I got inspired.  
> There were also many other inspirations for this one -mainly songs ('Kahlil Gibran - On Love' (animation of it more than the song itself), 'Linkin park - Heavy' and 'Kwabs - Walk' are the most obvious ones)

They entered a large room. Surprisingly cold compared to the outside temperatures. The walls were shadowed in a dull grey, only a few bright white patches illuminated from high round windows, revealing their true colour. Their steps echoed as they moved forward, between wooden benches. Various statues and frilled designs crawled around pilasters and arches. They paid them no attention, for their goal was right before them, at the far end of the room; A semicircular dais on which the dark gray altar bent in a shape of a horseshoe. In its embrace lay a body of a Maia. Sprawled across the platform and its steps, dressed in a pure white clothes. It made him look like he was asleep -if only it was so. It was a common practice for their funerals, making their dead look so peaceful, like a willing offering to their father. 

_Lies, lies, lies, all of it just lies!_

The Maiar are not supposed to die. They are to wait, clothed in a physical form or as a naked spirit for the end of times. It was an accident, a failed attempt to purify the spirit which needed not to be purified. It was not his time. With a heavy step Melkor approached the dais, He stood like a statue before his lover, a stem filled with white dittany flowers in his hand.

_One night, it was all they gave us... One... Just one..._

He reached down to plant the flowers on Maia's shoulder, letting their soft petals brush across the delicate cheek. He would have done the same, but he knew the feel of cold skin would only confirm what he already knew and the sorrow would be too great. Even now his heart was like a million sharp pieces, with each breath they broke down further. Melkor wondered if by the end of the day there would be anything left. He felt empty, unable to focus, unable to care. His own thoughts eluded him and he found no reason to chase after them. He stepped back letting the other offer his own farewells.

Gothmog approached the dais, murmuring a few words of goodbye, the ones he was not given a chance to utter before his friend was put to death. He placed hyacinths in Mairon's hand and returned to his master's side. Both now stood at the right side of the altar. His master was still staring at the unmoving body of his lover. "Do we leave? The others will be arriving soon." He voiced.

"No." The answer was soft, almost too faint to hear.

"They will not approve of us being here." The other urged gently, not wanting to elicit wrath of his lord. Though, it was hard to tell if Melkor was still capable of it, of feeling anything.

"I don't care." His master said pulling at the black veil that fell from his crown, covering his face. He always wore black, yet on this day it seemed to devour him whole. Gothmog nervously shifted from one leg to the other. They came early to avoid running into anyone else, if only his master choose to be reasonable for a moment. He sighed. There was no point in arguing with him, so he decided to wait, not wanting to leave the other alone. Faint sound of birds made their way through the open doors, only emphasizing the silence of the inside. Even a slight breath sounded far too loud. This whole place made him feel sick, his friend did not deserve to go like this. 

Not much later another set of steps echoed from the doorway, a new figure entered the funeral chapel. Much to their surprise it was not one of their kin but rather a man wearing black priest clothing with a hooded cloak covering his face. An odd look, most of the priests wore white, sometimes they blended so well with the walls one would only notice them after they spoke. He slowly made his way to the altar and observed the deceased. "Dost thou wish to return?" He did not understand the question, return where? Melkor offered no help.

"So ye art the first ones to arrive," The priest's voice echoed through the chamber. "How curious." A stem filled with small white flowers twirled between his fingers.

Melkor ignored him. It put Gothmog in a tough spot, what kind of answer does one give to that? "We are..." He agreed. The priest smiled, a faint quirk of his lips.

Something felt wrong. Even his master shifted, glancing at the new arrival. "And who might you be?" He asked approaching the figure.

The man leaned forward and placed gladioli over Maia's chest. Melkor could not help but appreciate the choice. "Does it matter?" The man turned to the Vala regarding him with pure white eyes.

Melkor kept quiet, staring into the unseeing eyes. Something unnerved him about them. It seemed as if the man saw him when he should not have been able to. As if he was staring right through him, beholding all the ugliness of his soul. Even if it were so, he was too tired to care. 

_Look! stare! What does it even matter?_

The existence itself seemed like the heaviest duty right now. He wanted it all to end, wanted to wake up in his bed and find the nude body of his lover at his side, smiling gracefully at him, caressing his cheek, singing faint notes of love into his ears. Alas, it would not happen. Melkor had hard time coming to terms with the fact. It all felt so distant. As if he was watching a play unfold before him. Part of him still thought his lover alive, ignoring the harsh reality of it. "No." He sighed returning his gaze to Mairon's form.

"Of all the ones I've seen thou seem the most affected. Even though thee are adorned with the title of unfeeling." The man continued. "Others rejoice in release of this poor spirit yet thee do not seem to be glad for it."

Melkor gave him a murderous look. "What is there to rejoice about? This salvation, as you call it, I know he didn't wish for it." He was vaguely aware of how his voice trembled. "There was much he wished to do, so much, he told me... " he took a shaky breath, "You forced this on him, you killed him! Do not try to sweeten your actions with honeyed words!" The last words turned into a feral growl.

The priest gave him a sad smile. "Thou art the one that marred him?" He asked unaffected by Melkor's tone.

"I loved him, call it whatever you wish." He was about to turn away when a hand grabbed his chin. Melkor stilled, surprised at the accuracy of the blind man. Gothmog stayed aside, half step taken towards his lord, not sure whether to interfere or not.

Melkor's face was slowly turned to face the other figure, unable to fight back. "What wouldst thou give? To have him back?" The white eyes stared into his soul, his body moved on its own turning fully to the figure before him.

He gaped, mouth trying to form words but finding it difficult. "Everything." He rasped feeling himself fall apart. 

The thin, pale hands reached for his face, cradling it. An oddly comforting gesture. The man's eyes beheld him with unimaginable gentleness, like a father looking at his child.

And the world faded to black...

* * *

Opening his eyes he found himself sprawled across the white floor of an ornate room. Ceiling spun a few rounds around him before coming to a stop. He sat up feeling something tied around his wrist. It was a white cloth, long enough to drag on the floor. Its end faded into nothingness. Unfazed, Melkor looked around himself. The room was not too big and not too small. The decorated pilasters divided its walls into three segments, intricate golden designs crawled across, making it hard to distinguish where the walls began and where they ended. Sometimes he could swear he caught them moving from the corner of his vision, however they stilled the moment he turned his gaze. Either something was wrong with his head or the room itself was messing with him. "Where...?"

"In a place that does not exist." Came the answer from behind him. He turned. The blind priest stood at his back, his hands resting at his sides, head slightly quirked aside watching him with empty eyes and the same disturbing smile. One hand slowly lifted, as if with great effort, to present the room to him. "Continue onward, pass the tests, and maybe thou shall find that which thou seek."

Melkor got up. "I will find Mairon?" He asked.

"If he is the one thou seek."A simple enough answer.

None of it made sense to him. Not that it mattered, at this time he found it hard to care. In fact, the more bizarre the day became the easier it was to believe it was all just a bad dream. "Tests?" He asked not particularly curious, it just felt right to ask.

The priest nodded. "Choose, which one of these is thine image?" He nodded towards the room and only now did Melkor realize that there were paintings nestled among curved vines of ornaments. They covered every inch of the room; Some portrayed nobles, some peasants, some animals and some did not seem to have any figures in them, instead showing fields, forests and other landscapes. He walked forward not bothering to observe them. None of the paintings caught his interest apart from the three at the very end. On the right was the picture of a king standing before a throne, with a golden, richly decorated crown. Many more crowned figures surrounded him with bent backs and bowed heads. King of the kings echoed his thoughts. He hummed, turning to the next one and failing to notice king's hair turn white, his face twist with uncertainty. It was the largest in the room, at the very middle of the wall, depicting a figure with a globe in its hands. It had a face he couldn't see -the room was definitely messing with him. Power seemed to radiate from the painting. A God, he concluded stepping away. The painting smiled as he left. The last one, to the left, was perhaps the oddest in the room. A black splotch on a naturalistically drawn forest background. It looked as if the author had an accident in the studio, destroying what was to be a beautiful piece of art. The ruined masterpiece watched him with one icy, pale blue eye. An reflection in the mirror. His stomach turned as his own eye stared him down from the painting. The call of other paintings beckoned him, lies sweet as lover's lips but the ugly truth smirked at him with its deformed, bloody, black mouth, filled with sharp teeth. Mocking him, mocking his desire to escape his miserable existence.

_Go on,..._

It laughed,

_Seek thy salvation within innumerable lies, see not the ugliness of thy soul. Let other's light hide this misshapen child, crying black tears in the black depths._

He clenched at his chest, crumbling the dark fabric and growled, showing his teeth. He turned to leave, however, a faint light in the painted black claws caught his eye. A small flame. Burning brightly, the only warmth in this wretched piece. It chose it as its home, resting peacefully within monstrous grasp.

_Of all the others you choose one such as I..._

His eyes twisted in grief, hands reaching for the painting. "I do not fear that which I am, For there is another who found beauty within me." The surface rippled like water beckoning him to its depths and he entered, staining the cloth around his hand with the paint. Leaving his crown behind.

* * *

He stepped into a large room. So masterfully designed, it played to his desires. He marvelled at the beauty of the high walls and wide stained glass windows. In front of him was a wide staircase leading down to the center where liquid gold poured out from marbled fountain. The walls were lined with chests filled with treasure, and the floor inlaid with most precious gems. His own treasury, most elaborate of them all, filled with unimaginable riches paled in comparison to this place. Melkor turned around, finding no sight of his companion. Shrugging it off the Vala traversed around the room, running his hands across various rich furs and silks, across smooth surface of the fountain. He even dipped his fingers into the gold, coating them. He found that he liked the new look.

No matter where he looked he would find greater riches than any he's ever seen. The Vala ventured forth, finding many corridors leading deeper. A movement caught his eye. Few golden statues shifted from their pedestals and approached, bowing down. They wrapped him in a thick red cape lined with gold and beckoned him to follow. They took him through many hallways, adorning his form with more and more riches. By the time they reached their destination his hands were covered with various rings, his neck carried several different pendants, badges decorated his dark plain clothes. And they urged him onward to the golden throne, one very much like his own.

He sat down. Resting in his usual posture, leaning against the solid gold with head upon his hand and legs spread slightly apart. Gazing at the room in wonder. Above him three blinding lights shone, illuminating the room. "Do these gifts please thee?" He turned, the priest was standing beside his throne, like a servant expecting an order. "Thou passed the test, thou deserve a great reward."

"Indeed!" Melkor laughed. "I never imagined such place could exist!" He gestured towards the throne room and many golden figures with bowed heads. "Even if I had all the riches in the Arda they could not compare to the glory of this place." He turned to examine the rings resting upon his fingers.

"I am glad it is to thine liking."

He hummed an acknowledgement, twisting his hand, watching as the light reflected off of burnished surfaces. The gems glittered upon his fingers like many stars. Yet one ring stood out from the others. A simple golden band. While others contended for the most intricate design or the most expensive materials this one seemed content with its modesty. He leaned forward, twisting it on his finger.

"That one is not from here." The priest helpfully pointed out. 

"No." He admitted taking it off and letting it rest against the palm of his hand. With his nail he pressed a hidden switch on the side and the ring separated into three connected loops. The innermost one had the etched plan of Utumno; his home. He traced the faint ridges, memories coming back to him of the time he had craved them together with his love. His gaze shifted to the middle one, a contour of the mountains so very familiar to him, with a large gate hiding between their sharp fangs. The outermost one was a plain gold with engravings on the inside -an ancient song. The lyrics danced across his lips but he could not sing it alone.

"This place can only house that which belongs to it." The priest leaned down to gently speak to him. "For the price of such a small trinket thou canst have all the riches thou canst imagine." 

"For the price?" Melkor repeated in a questioning tone.

"Abandon it and have all that thy heart desires, or keep it and leave everything behind."

He let his head fall to the golden backrest of the throne. "I knew there was a catch." He grumbled looking at the ring in his palm through half-lidded eyes. He put it back on, taking others off one by one. They grabbed at his fingers begging to be allowed to stay, their weight increased so much it was impossible to lift his hands. He cursed them, scraping at his hand, forcing them off and throwing the last few away to the large piles of treasures scattered across the room. Blood flowed off his fingers and down his wrists. The Vala ripped chains off his neck and badges off his clothes. He stood up, letting the cloak fall to the now empty throne. His companion offered a slight smile and walked to the door hidden behind it.

_Was it always there?_

He followed, glancing back at the room with a heavy heart, alas, it was not what he sought.

* * *

Again the world spun around him. He was thankful that he choose not to eat anything for the past few days. Melkor lifted himself up, this room was plain, for a moment it seemed to stretch infinitely in all directions, however the faint lines soon appeared framing him in a long corridor. The priest was nowhere to be found.

The Vala stepped forward something cracking beneath his foot accompanied by a sharp pain. Looking down he noticed the floor was covered in sharp pieces of glass, so many that it seemed like it was completely made out of them -as was probably the case. They were not there before. One sharp point shot right through his leather boot, stained with dark red blood. It hurt.

_Whatever..._

He took another step, trying to avoid the large pieces, despite his efforts they somehow found their way beneath him. Melkor glared at the ground, this place was beginning to go on his nerves. Clouds swirled within reflective surface, clouding his image and showing him another. He crouched to get a better look. A reflection of a time past; A glowing white shape surrounded by others of her kind. All laughing and singing together. Then another spirit approached, shining with a dark light, devouring all around it. Notes flew from it trying to join their song. They muted, drawing back, the white light looked disdainfully at him. 

_What hast thou done?_

Anger boiled within him, claws flew forward to crush the image. It broke into million little pieces. That felt good, but now new images surfaced, every one of them a bad memory. He grabbed them, broke them all, until they turned into a fine dust. His hands bled, he didn't care. New voices rose from the pile. Each little speck laughing and mocking, his actions only confirmed their accusations.

"Doth it anger thee?" Asked a voice. The priest was back. Melkor twisted his eyes to him, clearly not amused. "Have her words, her rejection hurt thee?" The man continued his interrogation, "Did she have the right to judge thee so?" Melkor stood up continuing his painful journey. The glass cut at his feet and sweat seeped down his brow. It hurt, it hurt so much. Voices echoed around him, judging him, arguing, cursing. All of them very familiar, the things that brought forth his fury and wrath. He hated them, wanted them to stop, wanted them gone. 

"What is going on!?" A choked gasp escaped his throat.

"What dost thou think is happening?"

Growl threatened the figure beside him, "I do not know! Aren't you supposed to guide me?" 

"I never claimed to be your guide."

Melkor sighed, the other was so useless. Did he too only come here to laugh at him? To ridicule him? The images now changed, some still showed him all the moments and people he hated, others, however, showed someone else. He observed one of them; It was Mairon, holding a long sword, presenting his work to his teacher, asking for approval only to get none. Aulë lectured him, calling him violent. Taking the sword he threw it into the fire.

_Why dost thou create such weapons? They will only bring suffering upon these lands!_

He looked around, reaching for one of the sharp pieces and dislodging it from its cruel friends. His lover spun around in the shard before him, surrounded by his fellow smiths. Words of envy whispered among them. Mairon's face twisted and relaxed, turning away, leaving them behind. 

Melkor cradled the glass in his hand. Of course his precious was like him. He too was hurt by others, cut multiple times by their sharp edges. He too walked this agonizing road. Yet never showed it, focusing on improving himself, on reaching his goals and living his life to the fullest. He rose above them, like a giant flaming bird. Burning brightly, brighter than the sun. Free of all the chains. Melkor was there, the first time his precious burst into his glorious flames. He was the one to break him out of his cage and set him free. The Vala laughed at himself. What was he doing? Dragging so much baggage with him. Holding on to the all the things that keep bringing him down. The chains hung heavy over his shoulders, why did he cherish them so? Lifting his head up he breathed, trying to ease his mind. His legs moved with renewed determination. The priest casually walked besides him, glass parting beneath his feet, clearing the way for him. Melkor scoffed but said nothing. The voices were getting louder now. Screeching at him, urging him to turn back. His eyes could not resist the calls and glanced over his shoulder at the bloody path behind him. All the things left behind. He twisted his head away shutting his eyes. His step faltered and he fell down. Scream ripped from his body as glass shards cut into his knees and palms.

_Why?_

Strangled sounds escaped him. A bony hand rested on his head, caressing the long black strands. His eyes met that of the blind man. "Let go," The other urged. "Set yourself free."

"It's not that simple!" Melkor roared. Shards beneath him pointed their fingers, mocking him. He slammed his fist on them, wincing as they gnawed into his skin. 

"Is it not?" The priest took his palm into his cool hands. It eased some of the pain. He pulled him up, a seemingly weak gesture that lifted him as if he weighted nothing. 

"Is it wrong?" the question echoed around them, "To feel anger? To be hurt?"

"No, it is not." Came the answer. "But too much of it will devour you."

He knew it was truth. Many late hours were spent awake with all the wrongs done to him replaying endlessly in his head. Mairon would cup his face in his hands, kiss his lips softly, drawing him away from foul memories. He would urge with a loving voice to leave them behind, to walk away, not look back. Melkor tried to even out his breathing. Holding tightly onto the pale hand, he moved forward. The pain didn't go away, it increased, pushing him back, the voices telling him not to pretend. A golden one laughed;

_Are you running?_

_He is running!_

_Coward!_

He kept walking trying not to get caught up in the memories. Liked it or not he was leaving. The shard in his hand a proof that it was possible, that it was worth it. A presence next to him a sturdy wall to lean on as he pushed his body forward. Soon the glass parted and he found himself on the solid ground, a trail of blood behind him, the once white strip around his wrist painted bright red. It was done, it was over.

He fell down.

* * *

The next time Melkor cracked his eyes open he was lying on the soft grass, surrounded by tall trees. Green strands caressing his face. The Vala pushed himself into a sitting position and cursed. His feet were on fire, there were no wounds, not even a slight cut in his boots but the burn of the sharp edges lingered as if they were still lodged into his flesh. "Are thou tired?" He flinched, that blasted priest really liked to sneak up on people!

"Yes." The answer held a tinge of a annoyance. "What now?"

"Now thou rest." The man pointed at the waterfall behind them. Melkor got up, approaching it. The water was as clear as the first rivers to run through Arda. And so pleasantly cool. Suddenly, he became aware of just how empty he felt. Cupping his hands, he let the water run over them before bringing some to his mouth. He coughed, wondering what was up with all this sudden thirst? He repeated his actions.

_If only it was wine._

He would love some alcohol to mud his mind right now. The next gulp tasted odd, looking down he found that the liquid changed color into red. A sweet taste lingered on his lips. What a strange place. Melkor continued to drink but no matter how much he drank he just felt more and more parched. 

"Is there any food here?" He asked in annoyance and a feast appeared before him. A long table filled with various delicacies; Thinly sliced meats, stuffed venison, roasted fowl with mouth-watering golden crust, beacon, eggs, bread and many types of fish. Goblets filled with wine, honey and milk. And a wide array of desserts. The smell filled his nostrils, he gulped. Grabbing the meat with his bare hands he stuffed it in his mouth. The taste was divine. He focused on cleaning the food off the table, devouring everything that was within his reach, yet no matter how much he ate he never ran out of food or drink and he never felt satisfied. It was beginning to frustrate him, what kind of witchcraft was this? By all logical thought he should be full by now! His body has become like a black hole, devouring everything and never finding satisfaction. Always feeling so empty! 

And then he realized; The Valar weren't supposed to feel hunger, or thirst. He only indulged himself with delicious food, savouring the tastes of the world, because he wanted to, not because he needed to.

Faint sounds coming not too far from him caught his attention. Curious, he followed them and in the shadow of a forest found a black growth. It had many hairy legs, both alike a spider and person, accompanied with just as many hands and an enormous belly. Its mouth gaped open, disgusting sounds escaped from it as it frantically stuffed various foods into its mouth, plates and everything. Melkor felt like throwing up, was that what he looked like? "What is that?" 

"Another guest seeking a bit of rest." The priest smiled. "She has been here for a long while." Melkor walked away from horrid sight, back to his own table. He picked a piece of the fowl and put it into his mouth. It tasted of ash and humiliation. Blood pooled into his mouth and trickled down his chin, He wiped it onto his tied wrist. "Are thou ready?" His companion asked.

"Yeah..."

* * *

They entered a new room, how they made their way to it he did not know, he barely remembered walking behind the priest as he led him onward. 

Wide space opened before him. A white marbled ceiling with a strange golden motif above and red smooth floor below. Something draped over him -a bright red hooded cloak. He looked to the side expecting his companion but the priest was gone, replaced by a masked feminine figure who was wearing the same cloak as him. She reached for his arms and pulled him to the center of the room. They were not alone anymore. Many similar pairs stood still around them. All of them wearing the same clothing, the same white masks. His face burned red with a sense of shame, they were looking at him. The only one without a mask. It made him feel... exposed. The female figure leaned forward, caressing his face. The flirtatious gesture pulling him out of his thoughts. Gently sliding around she dragged him with her.

They danced, and all others danced with them. Spinning endlessly around the room. Her body moved against him sensually. It felt wrong but his body leaned forward, closer towards smaller figure. 

Then they parted and he was pulled by another. Again he was caressed by the soft hands, his body worshipped. The hands travelled down his torso. Arousal building within him.

Something was off, he was unable to think, completely taken in by the movement.

The room spun around him and countless red figures spun with it. Nausea settled within. He breathed hard. Ears ringing. What was happening? 

_This is wrong, this is wrong, this is wrong!_

But he could not escape. He was trapped in the repetitive movement, garbed and pushed. They seduced him and then, when they grew tired of his company, pushed him onto another. It made him feel like a whore being passed from one lover to another.

Melkor growled grasping the travelling hand of his partner. Letting his own wander up and down, caressing the other's body. Digging his fingers into slender hips. He did not see their face but he could feel his actions had effect. And when his partner was completely taken in by him, he pushed them away into embrace of another and exchanged them for the person next to him.

Again he repeated his previous actions. Changing the game, playing by his own rules. No longer the goods being passed around. He was the master now, a leader of this despicable act. No longer did the room spin around him. It now danced to his tune, spinning and twisting as he desired. The lights dimmed, enhancing the red of the floor and all the dancers on it. He found himself getting tired of his partners faster and faster. Fondling them with no emotion. Some would immediately be flung aside as if they were not worth his time. 

He grabbed another, pulling them close, their face clouded by the hood. He didn't know when but at some point he began regarding the masks as their faces. With a gentle touch, alike that of a seductive lover, he pushed their chin up.

The masked face laughed at him -a twisted and disturbing expression. In surprise his hand flew away to his own face only to be met with a hard surface. Melkor traced his features. They were misshapen, a wide grin and slit eyes. He was laughing back, another wretched creature toying with the emotions of other. He felt disgusting.

_A cheater!_

Screamed his thoughts. He pushed the other away stepping back, bumping into the pair behind him. They both grabbed at his cloak. He ripped it off and ran, pushing past many figures and limbs. The room grew ever darker and darker.

A hand stopped him. He turned. The priest was looking at him with a mournful expression. "I-I didn't...-" He panted, trying to think of a lie or an excuse. Finding none.

"'tis alright." The other reassured.

"It's not!" The Vala fell to his knees. Bloody tears falling down his face. He desperately wiped at them. "I've had enough! I can't keep playing this wretched game of yours!"

"Then rest." Hands patted his head like he was a child. It was yet another trick, he knew, but he was tired. Both physically and emotionally exhausted. Melkor closed his eyes.

* * *

He floated, that was all he was aware of. The world still around him, no sound, no smell, no feeling. It was only him. He felt at ease, there was no test this time. Just rest. And he embraced it, letting his form drift, letting his mind ease. He wanted not to move, for moving was exhausting. He wanted not to think, for thinking was exhausting. 

He enjoyed nothingness. The lack of existence. How great it felt... There was no one to loathe him, to call him a monster, to refuse and challenge him. He was the master of this place. He did not need to waste energy arguing with anyone, being angry. He did not need to feel anything at all. It was a bliss. 

He no longer thought of vast treasures for this dark peace was the greatest treasure he could ever gain. He no longer felt pain, hunger, thirst. All the suffering the previous places inflicted upon him washed away. He floated, in the emptiness. Alone.

He found himself repeating the thoughts again and again. How tiresome. He tried not to think.

The silence stretched onward.

Where was he again? Why was he here? Melkor was too tired to find the answers, he let himself continue drifting.

Not a sound could be heard.

Who was he again? He could not remember.

And the darkness was not going to tell him.

What was he? He wondered. What did it matter? His thoughts spoke back.

His thoughts the only sound around him, it was exhausting to think.

He could no longer think, only exist and drift.

_No._

He wished it to end but he could no longer wish, it was exhausting to wish.

_No._

His heart begged him to move, begged to be reunited with someone. Who? It was exhausting to beg.

_No._

He felt love, it drained him, it was exhausting to love.

_No._

_No._

_No!_

He fought the darkness devouring him.

He still had a purpose! He came here for a reason! 

_What reason?_

He did not know, he could not remember. He fought harder. His body moved, the clouds of his mind cleared.

He breathed, like for the first time in centuries, he breathed.

Eyes snapping open only to be met with pitch-black landscape. He was resting, yet he felt more tired than ever. His body pressed against the floor, too heavy to move. Sleep called out to him with sweet beckoning words. He screamed.

"NO!"

And sat up rasping for breath. Everything smelled like blood. Sweat dripped down his nose or was it blood? His ears were ringing, his vision swimming. He stood up, and continued walking...

* * *

Melkor could not tell for how long he walked. The priest seemingly grew tired of his company and left. He was alone, wandering through the dark. Only the floor before him illuminated. But there was no light. He stopped, looking around.

_There was no light._

The Vala's gaze returned back down, it was coming from himself. Melkor lifted his hands up. He was glowing, the same glow that was stolen from him long ago. It was the same as the one back when he was first created. The brightest light in the void, the only brighter being than him his father. All colours divided and danced across his form and pride filled him. For he was the brightest spirit ever created.

Faint lights joined him. The lesser ones, flickering ants, too afraid to come near him for he might shadow their light. He lifted his head, walking like a young noble among the poor. 

_Worthless flies, your light is no match for me!_

He mocked, but the words were sour. Memory plagued him of a time when others looked at him with pity, at his lack of brightness. He found himself unable to wish revenge upon them. For a painful memory was just that, a memory. It no longer mattered, he had left his grudges behind.

Melkor continued walking among countless faint lights, letting them follow him, basking in his glory. 

Then a flash of light appeared. A warm flame, it twisted around him, blinded him and flew away. His eyes widened. He recognised that flame. He ran, trying to catch him. And all the spirits around him too raced after the bright one.

_No, that was not right he was-_

He stopped, looking down his body, his lights seemed dim compared to the fire spirit. He was no longer the brightest, the smaller ones that followed him flew like moths to the greater flame. An ugliness arose in his heart. He watched as Mairon spiralled around, joyous, unaware of the suffering he went through. Or perhaps not caring. And it seemed to Melkor that the Maia was laughing at his demise.

He walked forward, approaching his lover. He watched that perfect body twist before him, unmarred in this miserable place. The wounds he did not have itched. How could he be so joyous, when he was surrounded by so much suffering? How could he laugh and burn so brightly when he left him behind.

He was now standing behind the Maia. Reaching with his hand. 

Mairon turned and beheld him. His hand touched the fire spirit's neck, running his thumb across the slight lump at its center. His lover leaned into his touch, closing his eyes. Glowing fingers gently wrapping around his wrist. He loved him. The other hand joined the first. He really loved him. Thumbs pressed into the sensitive spot of Maia's neck. He-

He fled.

He loved him! He was supposed to love him! So why? The dread dawned upon him. He fell upon his knees. He felt like throwing up. He wanted to throw up, to feel at least some of disgust leave his body. Was it all just pretend? Did he truly mourn the death of his lover? 

_Fake!_

The words echoed in his mind. It hurt. Thinking about how it was all a lie. He did not want it to be but it was. Now he finally understood just what kind of monster he was. No wonder his father wanted to be rid of him. All he ever did was mess up. He was a disaster.

Clawing at his own flesh, he wept, thinking it would be for the best to stay in this hellish place. Away from everyone, away from Mairon...

* * *

He was no longer in his own body, or at least it didn't feel like he was. He didn't care. The one whose body he was borrowing approached the grey altar. A spirit stood in front of it, dark red cloth around his wrist, he was looking at his discarded form.

_I do not wish to go._

He said with a thin voice.

_I do not wish for this! we are supposed to return at the end of time, not, not-_

He wept, as much as a bodiless spirit could.

"Dost thou wish to return?" He heard himself ask with a foreign voice.

The fire-Maia turned. 

_Yes!_

Mairon said, face twisted in grief, turning his head to the two figures standing away from them. Drawing his own attention to them. 

_Yes._

He repeated.

"So ye art the first ones to arrive," The stranger's voice echoed. "How curious." His fingers moved around the stem of the white flowers in his hands.

"We are..." His friend agreed, why did it all sound so familiar? His lips quirked into a smile, but he felt nothing.

"And who might you be?" Now that was his voice, he wasn't speaking however.

He leaned over to his lover's body, placing a flower on his chest -gladioli. They were at the funeral chapel. "Does it matter?" His own face came into the view. He looked awful. His face thin, pale, dark circles below his eyes. Like a mortal that hasn't slept for a few ages. The fire spirit came to him, caressing his face though he could not feel it. 

"No." 

"Of all the ones I've seen thou seem the most affected. Even though thee are adorned with the title of unfeeling." He hated his new voice. "Others rejoice in release of this poor spirit yet thee do not seem to be glad for it."

His face scowled, giving a fierce look. He looked like a beast, no wonder everyone feared him. "What is there to rejoice about? This salvation, as you call it, I know he didn't wish for it." His voice trembled. "There was much he wished to do, so much, he told me... " He sounded on the verge of tears, pathetic. It almost made him sound like he cared. At least he was a good actor. "You forced this on him, you killed him! Do not try to sweeten your actions with honeyed words!" His past self finished with a growl. The Maia desperately tried to grab his attention, calling out to him, trying to calm him down.

_I'm here, I'm here!_

He cried.

"Thou art the one that marred him?" 

_He didn't mar me!_

Mairon shouted.

"I loved him, call it whatever you wish."

He reached, grabbing his own chin. "What wouldst thou give? To have him back?" He stared into his own pale eyes. The past him desperately tried to form words. He looked so ridiculous.

"Everything." 

He turned back to the Maia, "He wouldst give everything, shall thou then exchange places with him?" He asked. "He who wishes to die dies, he who wishes to live lives."

_No._

"Thou no longer desire life?"

The fire spirit looked at Melkor.

_I love him, be it in life or death. I wish to be with him, I won't take his life._

"Then thou will be alone."

_I would be either way._

He turned to Melkor.

_Goodbye._

Melkor grabbed him, pulling him into his embrace. Somehow back in his own body. "No, don't go!"

"Melkor?" His lover gasped. "How-?"

"I came for you!" He explained cupping his face. "But I failed." His voice felt small, "I did something unforgivable."

Mairon placed his hand below his neck, "I know." He said. "But you didn't fail." He hooked his arms over Vala's shoulders. Weight lifted from Melkor's spirit, he felt all his mistakes forgiven. Loving arms held him in their embrace and he could not help but love the Maia in his arms and also himself. He pulled Mairon closer. "I'm sorry, I can't go back." The fire-Maia pressed into Melkor's chest. 

"Then stay," He kissed his forehead. "Here... With me." 

They sought each other's lips, pressing their bodies together. Their light bleeding into one.

An ancient hymn.

A crescendo of sound.

* * *

"What happened?" The balrog asked. The priest held the limp body of his master offering him a slight smile. He laid Melkor next to his beloved. One bone-white hand pulled a dark red ribbon seemingly out of the thin air. He let it float around falling gently over the embracing figures. Then he took their hands, intertwined them and tied the cloth around them.

This was not a part of ceremony. "Answer me!" Gothmog roared.

"The most wonderful thing." The priest answered, voice taking a divine quality.

He turned, and stared at the Valaraukar with eyes brighter than any light in existence. A wide fond smile forming upon His lips. "He has found his harmony..."


End file.
